In The Line of Fire
by cestlaviesuckers
Summary: Three best friends, Bella, Rose, and Alice, are on the search for their ideal man. Edward, Emmett, and Jasper are three CIA agents that so happen to be undercover in the exact same bar the three girl's are on a manhunt at. What happens when a dangerous raid takes place, sending all three girls into the arms of each of the men? Cocky Agentward. AU, AH, Lemons. Language. Violence.
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing to do with Twilight. Just love the characters, and writing ff.**

**Hey guys, I am still writing my other story, of course. Just wanted to try something a bit different for a while. Not sure what you'll think, but please let me know! :)**

**Three best friends, Bella, Rose, and Alice, are on the search for their ideal men. Edward, Emmett, and Jasper are three CIA agents that so happen to be undercover in the exact same bar the three girl's are on a manhunt at. What happens when a raid takes place, sending all three girl's into the arms of each of the men? For Rose and Alice, it's smooth sailing. But as for Bella, what does she do when sexy defensive operative Edward won't let her in?**

**Most likely will go up to M rating, for lemons, language, and violence. **

* * *

**In The Line of Fire**

"So, Mike cheated on you, huh?" Is the first thing my best friend, Rosalie Hale, says to me soon as we meet up together on the town.

Usually, she was the most loyal, caring, and sympathetic friend in the world. Now, though...not so much. We had arranged for much needed girlie time with our other friend, Alice, as well. Tonight, I want to get drunk witless. I want to forget all about my recent escapade with a guy I really liked, only found out it wasn't me he was interested in. Mike.

_Mike, Schmike_.

"It was so terrible, though. He was seeing another girl the whole time, Rose. Plus, we had sex, _more_ than once! I even lost my virginity to him! How stupid!" I scowl at the memory of my first time shared with him, and incidentally shudder. It was _so_ bad.

"What a bastard! I bet he had a pencil dick, anyway," Rosalie says, with such a straight face. I grin over her remark; Boy, she is so delightfully wicked. I love her so much for it. She knew all the right things to say, and she was always there for me to lend a supportive ear.

"Yeah, it _was_ quite small," I giggle. She hands me another glass of champagne.

"Now, let's stop dwelling over the past, shall we?" she says sternly, raising her glass into the air and motioning for me to do the same, with mine. "Here's to letting go of unfaithful assholes with pencil dicks, and moving on." She grins back at me, excitement shining in her bright eyes.

"Here, here! I'm all for this tonight!" I lift my glass in front of me. "Here is to letting go of the past, moving forward, _and_ finding a new partner without a small pencil for a penis!" We explode into laughter, clink our glasses together, and drink, long and quick.

* * *

The bar is loud and hectic, filled with full-time workers coming in after a long and tiresome day in the office wanting to unload, and get totally smashed. And then, there are some, like Rosalie and me, just wanting to have a reason to be about. And, quite possibly... meet some gorgeous men in the process.

Soon, our other close friend ever since high school, Alice, joins us. She's just finished a long day at work, and she is still dressed in her professional uniform; Her pleated grey knee-length skirt, and white button-up blouse, with opaque tights and heels, but she has never looked better to me.

"Alice Brandon, get your ass over here, bitch!" Rosalie screams loudly over the pulsing music, and Alice laughs. They hug really tightly, and then I hop up from my chair to do the same.

"I'm so sorry to hear what happened," she manages to speak in my ear. "What a jerk. Rose filled me in this afternoon. We should totally get him back for this!"

"No, Al. It's fine." And I feel I meant it in that moment. Maybe it was all the glasses of champagne that were doing it to me, though, in giving me a false sense of security. "Besides, Rose and I have a plan."

"What?" She leans back to look us square in the eyes, her hands coming up over her slender waist. "You girl's made a plan without me? How rude." Her tone is playfully accusatory, and it sends me laughing loudly over the loud noise of music surrounding us.

"Oh, the plan. That's right." Rose and I meet eyes, as she wraps her arm around Alice's shoulder, and leans in. "Tonight, we made a vow: Forget about cheating assholes with pencil dicks," she yells in Al's ear, "And, hopefully... hook up with a hottie with a sustantial package down there!"

"A _pencil_- what?" Alice bellows, missing everything else.

I wave a hand in front of her dismissively, while Rose cracks up. The pair of us are definitely deliriously drunk tonight. "Don't worry, Al. We'll tell you all about it later."

"All right, then. Later." She looks faintly disappointed, but instantly it gets lost on her, when she glances around my shoulder up at the bar. "Oooh, he is hot!"

"Who?" Rose and I say, in unison. Rose grabs me by my shoulder as well, and pulls me in, as the pair of us scope out our surroundings for Alice's unverified hottie.

"Him!" Alice points up eagerly to a guy standing at the bar.

I scruntinize him curiously, while Rose makes a very rude slurping noise.

He is roughly five-foot ten, wearing a white shirt that accentuates his bulky build and broad shoulders, and a pair of men's business trousers. He looks very strong- like some type of body-builder, or a bouncer- and kind of threatening. Only, his face is somewhat soft-looking, and friendly to all those around him. His head is completely bald, though; All hair shaved off, and the way he is standing there, with his arms crossed over his chest, makes the bicep muscles on his arms ripple something impressive.

So, he isn't really my type. But he is certainly Rosalie's type. She liked strong, impressive looking men. In other words, someone who looked like the Hulk on steriods. And, I was so right on that, because she makes the sentiment known soon as her eyes fall onto him herself:

"Oh, Al," she moans longingly, in appreciation. "You're so right on that!_ Damn_! I could totally eat him up!"

"Why don't you go talk to him, then?" Alice encourages, and I throw in a quick pat on her shoulder for moral support.

She bites down on her bright pink-lipstick coated bottom lip, considering. "Oh, I don't know, guys. What if I'm not his type?" She looks skeptical, which was just silly. How could Rose not be any man's type? She is truly beautiful, with a great personality to boot.

"Rose, stop it," Alice scolds, firmly. "You'll never know, unless you go up there and see for yourself!"

"Okay, okay," she sighs, bracing herself. "Wish me luck, then."

She runs her fingers through her blonde hair, and adopts a certain swagger to the way she moves, as she pushes herself forward across the room; Shoulders back, eyes planted firmly on her unsuspecting male target, chest and breasts...pushed up into the air.

While we watch her do her thing, Alice's thin arm comes up to drape around my shoulders. "Gosh, that girl gets all the luck, I swear," I hear her sigh wistfully, when we observe the quick and steady progress Rose is making.

She is now standing near him, her hands fluttering in mid-air, while they talk to one another. The guy looks completely absorbed in her conversation, giving her a wide smile. Heck, he even has dimples. Could he be anymore perfect for her?

I curl my arm around Al's waist, and hug her tightly. "Oh, Al. Your time will come soon. At least, you don't have the bad luck, like I do." I sigh sadly. "First relationship. First guy I _really_ liked, and even gave my virginity to. And, what does he do? Goes and cheats on me."

We stare at each other, both feeling miserably sorry for ourselves. And then, immediately, we realize just how foolish that is and snap out of it. We burst out laughing together, squeezing each other tight. And then, Alice heads up to the bar to buy me my fifth glass of alcohol, as well as another for herself.

* * *

I catch myself glumly watching between Rosalie and the guy at the bar more times than I would have liked to be conscious of. They have now moved into touchy-feely mode, and Rose keeps throwing him subtle hints; by either slapping him gently across his hard chest, or laughing and running her hand along his forearm, like a caress.

And, the poor guy, I think he's too absorbed in all that is her, that he isn't even aware of it all going on before his very own eyes. She is throwing him all the not so subtle hints that she wants the night to expand into something more intimate between them, and he isn't hitting it.

Still, there are signs that he is just as interested in her, as she is in him. His eyes are only on her. I don't think he has even looked away from her once. How could you blame him, though? She is looking absolutely fabulous in her one-shoulder, shimmery bright red dress, and high heels, and her long blonde hair fanning out across her shoulders.

"God, she is so lucky," Alice groans, for about the millionth time tonight. We have both been watching the pair for over half an hour now. I think she feels just about as despairing as I do.

"Tell me about it, Al."

In fact, both Alice and her look stunning tonight, as per usual. They both look neat and dressed up for a night out, while I look anything but. My hair is still in it's loose ponytail, I'm wearing my Converse sneakers, not heels, my most flattering pair of dark skinny leg jeans, and a plain grey shirt. I'll never attract a guy in these clothes. But really, did I want to? I hardly feel in the right frame of mind. My last relationship went severely downhill recently, and I was still feeling so depressed over it. He cheated on me with a girl he works with. That doesn't do well on any girl's confidence and self-worth, to say the least.

"I actually need to pee," I mutter, out of the blue, realizing. Alice laughs at my toneless remark, and I smile back, and we are so drunk right now. "I'll be right back in a sec, Al. Wait for me!" Only, surprisingly, it feels good. I actually feel confident, and more able to be myself. It's alarmingly exhilirating.

I get up from the table quickly. Now the good feeling is instantly gone.

Because, there is a lot of blood-rushing to the head, and ringing ears. My head starts to spin, and so does my groggy vision for a moment there. But then, gradually, it stops.

What a relief!

I still have to grab the back of my chair to keep my balance, though.

"You okay?" I hear Alice slur, equally as drunk as I am.

I manage to nod my head, and giggle along with her. Oh boy. Drinking lots and lots of glasses of champagne. Not the best idea I've ever had.

I tread my way through the crowd slowly, careful not to bump into anyone. It is without success. I accidently bump shoulder's into someone, and it sends me staggering. First thing I know, I'm finding my feet again. And, in the next, I am toppling over and I'm heading straight onto the ground at a few people's feet. I crack up laughing extremely, drunkenly loud, when a person tries to grab me by the back of my arms and lift me up. I know I ought to have felt embarrassed, but I was so drunk, hardly any reasonable feelings registered in me right now.

"Jesus, are you okay?" A male says, sounding very concerned.

He is standing directly in front of me, and I find myself blinking down at the very nice dark grey open business jacket he is wearing. I almost start to drool like a dog- or more aptly, a crazy, sex-deprived girl- when I see that he is wearing a buttoned-up white dress shirt underneath and that the two top buttons of his collar are undone. He has a very nice smattering of chest hair there, and in my drunken state, I feel brave enough to lick it.

"Is anybody in there? Hello?" He waves a hand right in front of my eyes and, whoa, headspin by the sudden movement. "Look, I really don't think you even should be standing right now in your state. You can't even focus your eyes properly!" He grips me tightly by my shoulders. For some reason, it sends me incredibly defensive, and I gasp and wriggle underneath them. "Calm down there. I'm not going to hurt you, but you just fell right at my feet, while I was standing there. Frankly, I am more than a little concerned over your wellbeing. It is my responsibility now, Bella."

He starts steering me along gently with him, and I haven't the slightest idea where he is taking me at all. But then, my disoriented drunken brain slowly clicks into gear at his words. Wait... what? He knew my name? Do I know him...or something?

"Do I... know you?" Oh my god. Oh my god. I am totally going to throw up!

"No, you don't!" His tone is full of warning, and so so authorative. What the...? "Try to hold it in, please. I'm steering you to the bathroom, all right?" I hear him swear underneath his breath as he keeps pushing me onwards, and then, there is the loud shrilling cries of a few females. "Shut up, everybody!" Whoa. He's so threatening, and effective; About everything goes quiet after that. "I'm not coming in here to purposely check out the ladies bathroom, I assure you!" The man chuckles anxiously. "My beautiful girlfriend is just about to throw up, so excuse me."

"Girlfriend?" I start to argue, bewildered, but then, before I know it, his hands are gathering several tendrils of my hair that must have come loose with my ponytail, and he is holding it considerately out of the way for me while I puke and heave, hard.

"Fuck," I hear him mumble, in disgust, I think, over the sounds of my dry heaves.

I know I should feel embarrassed, or immensely grateful even, that this stranger has gone through all this effort, only I can't. I feel nothing... aside from weak, and my skin feels all clammy and wet, my insides hurting and left feeling as though I've been severely beaten. I vomit and cough several more times and then, finally, at true last, it all stops. How embarrassing. Never will I consume so much alcohol ever again, I vowed to myself, feeling my cheeks colouring up more and more by the second, when the guy thrusts a handkerchief into one of my trembling hands.

"You owe me big time for this," I hear him say loudly over me, while I wipe and wipe at my disgusting tasting mouth.

"_What_?" I murmur, trying to crane my head back to look at him. "I...I never asked for your help. I... don't even _know_ who the hell you are!" I still feel buzzed from all the alcohol, so that shame and guilt still hasn't quite settled in yet. But I know it will be, first thing, tomorrow morning. Or whenever the aftereffects wane off, I guess.

"Yeah," he sighs above me, sounding exasperated. "I said it, _big_ time."

_What?_ I open my foul smelling mouth, and turn to look up at him. Holy shit. He is beautiful, even while looking extremely pissed off and stressed. His hair is light auburn, and he is tall, around roughly six-foot-something. The light grey suit he wears clings amazingly to every inch of his slim build, and he... wasn't even talking to me before. Ooops. He has a mouthpiece connected to one ear, for some reason, while he stares down at me in brewing frustration. Yeah, it's a little intimidating. Even for a drunk girl.

"What now?" He whispers agitatedly to whoever it was he was speaking to. He peers down at me again, with bright greenish-tinged eyes, and there is something there in his look. He sighs heavily through his teeth and rakes a hand through his hair. "All right. So, it's completed? I just lock her in the bathroom until it's over, correct?" My head whirls at his words, and my eyes widen.

Lock me in the bathroom? What?

"All right. Thank you, sir." He presses a small button on the mouthpiece and peers down at me again. Maybe there is something peculiar about my expression, because he bends down slowly to crouch over me. Self-consciously, I cover a hand over my mouth; I don't exactly want to be breathing my vomity breath on some sexy guy. "When I go out of here, you lock this door right behind me. Understand?" His eyes are anxiously intense, looking intently over my face for any sign that I'll obey him. "A lot of noise will be happening outside this room, all right? It may frighten you for a while until it finishes, but it'll be over fairly quickly. No harm will come to you, so long as you stay right in this room. All right?"

My eyes are drawn to his mouth while he speaks. He has a small amount of bristly dark stubble underneath his chin. I just want to run my fingers all over it, and indulge in the feel of a real man-

"Bella? _Where_ are you?"

Oh my god. My pulse races at her voice.

"Rosalie!" I squeal at her through the cubical, trying to stand. "Why are you in here? What happened to that hot hunk of muscle?" This man crouching near me rolls his eyes dramatically, and brings himself to his feet. I find myself scowling up at him. How unfair. How come he gets to stand, while I must sit hovering over the toilet seat?

"Edward, ya'll in here?" A low-pitched male's Southern voice breaks out.

"_Bella?_ Rose?" Alice is crying, her voice a high-pitched, frightened squeal.

"Al, we're in here!" Rose and I both shout in unison, quick to appease her.

This stranger stares at me, his lips curled over. He looks as if he is silently considering something. He mumbles something to himself, then unlocks the door to my cubical. He pulls it halfway open and, _oh my god_!

Rose immediately comes at me, her eyes all wet and eyeliner running messily.

"Are you okay?" she whispers, her voice all shaky.

"I...I think so." I look over to find the guy is staring at me again. And then, it dawns on me I am still holding his handkerchief. "You... you want it back?" I hold it up to him politely, and he makes a disgusted face, scoffing.

"Bella! Rose!"

"Alice!" We both squeal, and she pushes through the opening of the cubical to join us two. She looks as if she has been crying also, and she wraps her arms around me tightly, shivering.

I jump in shock, when abruptly, this stranger guy unzips the fly on his trousers and rummages a hand around inside his pants. He pulls something out and, immediately, it's a black handgun. I gasp, loudly, caught off-guard. Is he going to shoot us or something?

He catches my wide-eyed, breathless look. "Look, just lock the door behind yourself. One of you, even. We can't take chances!" He turns to leave, and once he does, it's Alice that slams the door shut behind him.

"Jasper?" I hear the guy yell. The chamber of his handgun clicks- about the most haunting sound in the world. "Emmett? Let's do this shit! Find the target, and let's haul his ass in!"

I hear him exit loudly through the double restroom doors. Bulletshots start to sound off. Screaming. Crying. The sound of around a hundred footsteps running out of the club for shelter.

"What the hell?" I gasp out, clinging onto Rose and Al for comfort. "Who _was_ that guy?"

"I'd like to know the answer to that exact same question myself," Rosalie mutters bitterly. "I thought this Emmett was so cute, and we were getting along really well. Then, what does he do? Starts asking me who I'm here with, so I tell him I'm with you two, then he acts all weird! He pretends he wants a quickie in the bathroom with me, when... instead, he wants to lock me in here?"

"Oh, don't even _get me_ started," Alice growls- and she actually looks scary while she does it. Who would have thought? "This gorgeous guy comes up to me, pulls me to the dancefloor, and he had _the cutest_ little accent ever! Then next thing I know, he's forcing me into this bathroom!"

_Huh. Okay. So, I guess that makes all three of us... Very suspicious to say the least._

My drunken brain isn't working properly. I know, come tomorrow morning, I'll be able to make sense of this, somehow. But, as for now- -

"Oh my god!" Rose interrupts my thoughts, plugging her nose with a gag. "Why does it smell like vomit in here?"

"Yeah, sorry," I whisper, contritely. I'm immediately awash with utter humiliation. Does it really smell_ that_ bad? Well, no wonder I scared that hot man away so easily...How typical of me. "I kind of had too much to drink, so I threw up. Sorry, guys!"


	2. Chapter 2

**I want to thank you all so much for your responses so far on the story! It was flattering, and I really do appreciate it! I apologize for taking so long to add the second chapter! Hoping it isn't a disappointed. Sorry for it being quite short, I promise next update will come quicker and longer! :-) Love you guys!**

* * *

We were stuck in the bathroom stall for what seemed forever. After all the noises die down, we decide to go investigate. It seems safe enough to; There aren't any alarming gunshots ringing out, or screams of terror. We push through the exit of the women's bathroom carefully; Rosalie in front protectively, and Al behind me. Al is sobbing quietly, squeezing the life out of my hand.

And then, we hear it a moment later:

A terrible noise. A man shouting mercilessly at the top of his lungs, and another wailing.

"Where is he?"

"I... I don't know, good sir. P-please don't... h-hurt me! I don't know anything! I... I don't even know who this Jacob Black is, I swear so!"

"You don't know him?" The man laughs bitterly at his words, his voice trembling with derision. "Do you honestly think I'll believe that? I know for a fact that you're his little brother, so don't try any of that bullshit on me!"

"He... he's my brother?"

The crying man was playing dumb, that was obvious.

We tiptoe towards the center of the room, and peek around the corner. Holy hell. I'm left completely stunned. The guy who helped me out in the bathroom, so considerately in holding back my hair and even presenting me his handkerchief while I vomited unpleasantly, is standing over this young, tanned-skinned boy. The boy is sitting in a chair, and his ankles and wrists are bound by a pair of metal handcuffs. He has blood on his forehead.

I could tell Mr. Hottie was becoming restless over the boy's avoidance of answering his questions accordingly; His shoulders stiffened and he let loose a heavy sigh, as he brought his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose in agitation.

"You know what, I've had enough of your games, all right? You don't answer me this instance, then I'm going to wring the answers out of you. And it will be incredibly painful for you, you understand?"

"But... I..." The boy was whimpering quietly. "I... I don't know what you're even talking about, sir! Please!"

With a loud growl, Mr. Hottie brings his elbow out and jabs the guy swiftly across the face. God, it was pretty impressive. He moved with such strength, with such skill, and physicality. Clearly, he had mastered the art of defending himself. The young boy cries out in pain, and spits blood out of his mouth, trembling wildly all over.

"Oh my god," Alice gasps out behind me in a squeaky voice, terrified as always over violence.

He heard it the instance it flew out of her mouth, and he turns his head to glance over at the three of us. His eyes widen a bit, as they take in all of us standing there watching, in surprise. His defensive and hostile stance dissipates a moment later, as he kneads the back of his neck with his fingers. He turns on the young boy slowly to look us head-on, both eyebrows lifted at us.

"Can I help you?" He asks, a little too casually considering how violent his actions were seconds ago. This was not a guy to be messed with... ever. Alice gulps behind me.

Rosalie, calm as ever, answered for us. "Uhm. We were stuck in the bathroom, and we were wondering... is it safe to leave yet?"

"Oh, yeah. You're free to exit the premises now." His eyes flit over to me, and I can't stop myself from flushing. He probably recognized me as the foolish, gross vomity girl. I see the way Rose looks behind her shoulder at me, and then she clears her throat loudly. She steps away from me, and wrenches Alice by the arm for some reason, like she's giving me due space to talk to him, and express the well-deserved gratitude I owed him.

I hear the door snap shut behind them a second later.

_Great, now I'm stuck alone, with a... sobbing guy bound to a chair and the culprit beating the crap out of him. Nice. Not scary at all._

He strides slowly towards me, sedately rolling up each sleeve on his white dress shirt to his muscular, fair elbows, and _holy cow,_ there is a lot of patches of blood on his shirt, probably from assaulting the boy unrelentlessly. It's kind of... _arousing_, in a morbid way.

"Uh, I'm really sorry for puking on you before..." I murmur quickly. Oh my god. He raises his eyebrows at me questioningly. I feel myself flushing yet again. Did I really just say that? Talk about foot-in-mouth.

So suddenly, the boy bound to the chair lets out a shaky, gurgled laugh. We turn to look at him at the same time, but I'm sure my expression was less as grim as Mr. Hottie's. He was warning him, with his eyes alone, not to push him. His jaw was clenched tight, his lips compressed together in a stern line. God, I think I would about crumble if he had looked at me in such a way.

"Hey, you better watch it," he warns the boy, his voice dangerously low-pitched. "Any second now, I can decide to break your neck! Be quiet, and learn some manners! Don't listen to conversations that do not include you in them!"

Whoa. I stare at him, my mouth agape, when the boy instantly shuts up and whimpers. The intimidation he possessed of others, was truly... amazing.

"Uh, sorry," I murmur, quick to rectify the situation. "I didn't mean puke on _you_, per se. But _puke_ in _front of_-"

He holds up a hand, dismissing my apology, and laughs unevenly. "Hey, don't worry about it. It happens all the time. I'm used to it, honestly."

"Oh, right." I eye him dubiously. "So, you get random girl's puking on you all the time? Right."

"No, I mean... I get mess on me all the time." He shrugs, coolly nonchalant. God, why couldn't I be like that? All cool and... confident. "Particularly blood, it's fine. It comes with the job."

"Blood?" I repeat, completely thrown. "What, are you a serial killer, or something?" I had mainly meant it as a joke, but he didn't seem to take it that way. He doesn't smile, and he especially doesn't laugh. His face is completely straight and solemn, as he stares at me. I remind myself not to make serial-killer jokes in front of a guy like him the next time I so-happen to run into one.

He eyes me like I'm crazy. "Uh, no. Uhm, I work for the C.I.A." Something flits across his face, and he clears his throat. "Speaking of which, excuse me. I have an interrogation to get back to. Nice meeting you, Bella."

Before I'm even able to ask how he knows my name, already he returns back to the boy. He crouches down and grabs him by the scruff of his neck. I stare after him, completely and utterly confused, and yet... more than just a little frightened when he backhands the guy loudly with a thick, painful-sounding slap. Everything was so... _weird_. I feel a little sad; I wished I could have asked for his cell number, or something, because I felt in a sense that I wanted to see him again, and get to know him. He was, for lack of a better word, extremely dateable. My type. My dream man, aside from all the violent physical attacks, of course.

My wistful observing of him is ruined, when Rose pushes through the door to get to me.

"Hey, come on. We're waiting for you!" Rosalie grabs me by the elbow and steers me out. "Someone is very interested in seeing you."

Outside, it's all cop cars and blinding red-and-blue lights. It's crazy. How did we miss this before?

"Oh, Bella. Thank god!" I hear his voice before I spot him. My father separates from a group of young-looking officers, and rushes over to me. The instance he meets me, he throws his arms around me, knocking the wind out of me. "Hon, are you okay? Thank god for Agent Cullen, otherwise you would have been stuck in there while the raid took place! You could have been shot!"

"Raid?" Rose and I both repeat, shakily.

"Yeah, we got an unverified tip that Jacob Black was heading out here tonight. Turns out not, but we caught his younger brother, so that's the main thing." He looks towards the entrance of the club and, funnily enough, Mr. Hottie appears, hauling the young boy from inside out on the crowded street.

The boy's nose is all mashed in now, and he has dry blood underneath his nose. I'm guessing it was all Mr. Hottie's doing, considering he has dark red blood literally everywhere on his shirt. Oddly enough, it still does not detract. _At all. He's just too... handsome!_

"Emmett?" He calls, with admirable confidence in his stride. "Take Seth and throw him into the back seat, will you? I've got to talk to the Chief."

My head was reeling. Wait a second._ Chief?_ Mr. Hottie works for my _father_?

Rosalie's Hulk Man grabs him by the elbows and drags him along, ignoring his crude swears.

"Thank you, Mr. Cullen, for saving my daughter." There is profound happiness in Dad's voice. "Oh, god. Why did she have to pick that nightclub out of the millions of others in the city?" He rubs my shoulders comfortingly. "I was so scared when I heard she was in! Thank god you were there to remove her from the line of fire!"

"Dad," I breathe, pushing his hands away. "I'm perfectly fine, please."

"Oh, I think that's a lie," This Hottie Cullen says, and I dart a look over at him. He's staring at me intently, and I... don't know why. He runs his fingers through his hair, and quickly dodges my eyes, like he is trying to hide a grin. "She was drinking, sir. I can't say how many alcoholic drinks she consumed, but she was fairly out of it."

I gape at him, disbelieving. "Excuse me?"

"Bella, hon." Dad slaps me lightly on the hand, rebuking me with disapproval in his voice.

"You are such a liar," I whisper, with trembling accusation in my tone. "I wasn't that out of it!"

He throws his head back, and laughs. "Oh, really? What would you call it, then? I had to haul you into the bathroom before you threw up everywhere on the dance floor! Was that not you out of it?"

Dad slaps me again. "Bella, you shouldn't binge drink, hon. It's not good for you."

"Asshole," I murmur, quietly.

"Oh, I'm an asshole?" His eyes are bright with humour. "Well, at least I'm sober."

I gasp. "I am!"

He raises his eyebrows, amused. What the hell? I open my mouth, about to shoot off a few choice words, but then Rose is butting in.

"God, get a room!" She huffs, wrenching me away by the arm.

"I'm not that out of it, right?" I ask her doubtfully.

"No, you're not that bad. But your breath smells like vomit, it's disgusting. You need a toothbrush!"

I stare at her in horror as she tugs me along with her, and cup a hand over my mouth. "You tell me that now? Why couldn't you have told me that five seconds ago, so I didn't embarrass myself in front of Mr. Hottie!"

"Mr. Hottie?" She laughs loudly, her eyes bright with humour. "Oh, my god. You thought that guy was hot? Bella, he had blood all over him! Not to mention he was beating the shit out of that guy before they arrested him! You still find him hot after that?" She shudders. "Eck. Emmett is way better."

"To you, anyway," I retort dryly.

"Definitely to me." At this, she gives me a wicked smile and thrusts a hand into her bra. For a moment, I stare at her, thinking she is utterly insane, until she pulls out a piece of paper. "I got Emmett's number. He told me to call him tomorrow night." She wiggles her eyebrows at me. "I wonder if we'll... you know. God, did you see the size of his shoes?"

"No, of course I didn't. I don't really pay attention to men's feet, like you do."

"Anyway." She huffs out an appreciative sigh. "They were pretty big. And you know what they say about a man's shoe size. I bet his package is just as large. I can't wait to see it, and touch it. I'll make him sore for weeks..." She winks at me, and I'm left breathless at her words and completely horrified.

_Oh my god. My best friend, Rosalie Hale. A ruthless man-eater. How did I not know this?_


End file.
